Today was my turn to clean the office coffee pot.  I composted the coffee grounds, rinsed out the pot, went to dry out the inside with paper towel, and…  I was stuck.  Panic washed over me, as my big mitt was stuck deep in the pot.

I pulled, nothing.  I took a deep breath, nothing.  I cried softly, nothing.

Then dread washed over me.  The coffee pot was so precious to the office, they would need to cut off my hand.  Obviously the only option, because harming the dear pot would be out of the question.  The coffee pot was a provider and I was a taker.  I knew where I stood and it was not good.

Fearing the worst caused my blood to cool and amazingly my hand shrunk just enough to pop out.  I was free, but the terror remained etched in my soul.  Careful in cleaning the coffee pot, because they aren’t just for your pleasure.  Oh, no.  Sacred vessels come with both risks and rewards.